


your not such an easy target

by breadboi



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Deals With Human Emotions, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 18:35:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15891711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breadboi/pseuds/breadboi
Summary: Connor was learning to cope after the revolution, finally back on the DPD force and beginning to learn to act as human as he wanted to. While checking out a bank robbery, both Hank and Connor find themselves surrounded by a mysterious light and wake up very, very far from home.Or, in Hank's case, right in his old home.Hank struggles with facing his old life as someone from his new, and Connor struggles to try and seem even a little bit normal in a world that's never met an android before.





	your not such an easy target

**Author's Note:**

> just buildin all the background needed for the rest of this story. its gunna be a fun one yall!

Months after the revolution came to a close, with humans and androids walking together on the streets in relative peace, the DPD had a surprisingly unfamiliar on their hands: boredom. More specifically, Connor, who decided that working himself into oblivion was a good way to cope with gaining the ability to feel emotions, suffered. His human coworkers found they didn’t mind the ease of a workload after such a stressful year.

Connor was born into said stressful year, so sitting around flicking his coin into the air and doing mindless paperwork was very new to him.

Hank was pretty okay given the fact that the Captain got on his case less and less for coming in late since the only things the homicide division had to do was deal with leftover paperwork.

So when both Hank and Connor were called out to figure out the suspect after a relatively clean bank heist with only two casualties, Connor nearly leaped out of his seat.

Hank groaned loudly. “C’mon, the forensics team can deal with this. They robbed a bank, shot a gun, its already a done deal.”

Connor frowned. “Lieutenant, I really want to, as humans tend to say, ‘break my legs.’”

“I think you mean stretch your legs, kid.”

Connor double checked his research. Deviancy came with several side effects that Connor honestly could do without, and although he had an incredible memory, tiny things seemed to keep slipping past.

“I want to stretch my legs, Lieutenant. Let’s take this case, it’ll be fun!”

Hank grumbled into his coffee. “If you think a murder and more work’s fun, you got a sick sense of justice.”

Connor’s LED flashed yellow before he concluded that his partner was messing with him. He frowned. “Very funny,” he replied instead of explaining himself.

Hank snorted regardless and ended up choking on the coffee when Connor flicked his coin at his face.

* * *

 

They spent the whole drive jamming to Knights of Black Death, and Connor pulled all the lyrics to scream along with them. Hank laughed so hard he nearly drove the car off-road with a jerk of the wheel. (“It’s your fuckin’ goofy ass voice, I can’t handle this shit,” he had said.)

It was not the most exciting case, but Connor finally had something to do. He dipped his fingers and blood and tested it, cataloging all the victims as he went.

“God, Connor, I thought maybe you becoming deviant would mean you stop doin’ this shit. You’re so fucking gross…”

Despite having his taste buds deactivated as he worked and having done it numerous times in the past, Connor himself felt a little grossed out. He plowed ahead anyway and ended up dry heaving into a trash can while an exasperated Hank patted him on the back. Connor also felt something cold in the deep pits of his stomach simply looking at all the blood, and he avoided looking directly at the victims when he had finished basic forensics.

When he mentioned it off-handedly to Hank, the elder officer smiled. “You’ve gone soft, rookie.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to lick up their blood when you see dead people.”

“You don’t either, goddamn it, wait for the results you impatient bastard!”

As the two detectives argued about such blatant android lifestyle choices, to the discomfort of the rest of the team around them, they both failed to notice the sudden electricity in the air before it was too late. Hank shoved Connor lightly, and with a spark of static electricity both of their visions white pure white.

There was a sonic boom, popping Connors ears for a split second before he could readjust. A brief shutdown period was unavoidable, however.

“What the fuck?” Connor heard from Hank, confirming that he had rebalanced his ears properly before his system shut down.

* * *

 

He woke up on an unfamiliar coach, in an unfamiliar home. He booted up all his systems slowly, knowing that Hank must’ve kept him safe, and eventually got around to opening his eyes. Not to mention how sluggish he felt as he blinked around the room lazily.

Sunlight streamed in through half-open curtains, revealing a large backyard with a fair-sized pool. Connor smiled as the sun dipped into his face and let himself bask in it for a moment.

Only a few seconds later he heaved himself up and glanced at the adjacent couch, where Hank laid with a light blanket draped over his body. Both of them still wore their normal detective uniforms, with Connor having long since forgone his Cyberlife jacket, simply wearing his button-down shirt and tie. Hank wore his usual eccentric array of horrific colors and patterns, but switched for shorter sleeves as the sun gradually melted the events of the previous winter away.

Connor reached over and shook his partner. “Wake up, Lieutenant.”

Hank grumbled and turned over. Connor replied by slapping his face with about 3% of his maximum power output in his arms.

“Ow, fuck! I’m up, Jesus kid.” Hank bolted upright and rubbed his cheek. Maybe 3% was too much?

Whatever, no turning back from past mistakes. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but we are in an unfamiliar house. I do not sense any danger, and I also smell leftovers from a home-cooked dinner, so I assume we are not kidnapped, but I would like you to be awake in case we are.”

Hank slowly blinked at the ceiling, before sitting up. He blankly stared at the walls. “Shit, Connor, this place ain’t unfamiliar.”

Connor double checked, certain he had never been here before, and eventually zoomed in on a photo sitting by an outdated flat screen TV of a familiar young boy. “Oh,” he whispered hesitantly. The photo of Cole sat innocently enough surrounded by photos of a younger, healthier Hank and a woman Connor had never seen before.

“Yeah, oh,” Hank said.

They sat there for a few moments in silence. “What does that mean?” Hank asked the open air.

Connor scanned the house for blood or signs of the struggle. There was none. He stuck some dust from the armrest into his mouth, found traces of dead skin and dog hair, an Australian Shepard, along with bits of flour that had likely drifted from the kitchen. In the early morning light, the house they awoke in seemed as innocent as can be.

Connor checked his date and time settings and did a double take. “Lieutenant…” He said hesitantly.

Hank was standing up and cracking his back loudly. “What?” He asked as he flipped the photo of his son down.

“Today is August 22nd, 2018.” He said simply. “The internet is very slow.”

Hank blinked stupidly at him before he sat back down heavily. He took a deep breath. “I need some hard liquor to deal with everything that sentence has packed in it, so let me just-“ he pinched his nose and exhaled loudly. “We’ve time traveled?”

“Possibly, or someone has an exact replica of your old house and technology advanced enough to affect the software in an almost unknown prototype.”

“And we are in my old house, where Cole’s still alive.”

Connor simply nodded along. He had assumed that Hank wouldn’t take well to the fact of his son being alive, but he barely seemed rattled up. Shock, maybe?

“And you’re bitchin’ cause the internets slower than whatever the fuck your generation is used too.”

Connor finished a quick scan of Hank and determined that he was, in fact, in shock. “You’re going into shock, Lieutenant.” He said simply. 

“Fuck you,” Hank replied. 

There was a rattle of footsteps down the stairs and Connor glanced up to see an old-fashioned handgun in the hands of a much younger looking Hank Anderson, along with a shotgun in the arms of an unfamiliar dark-skinned lady. Hank’s wife, perhaps? They stood only a few steps down a wooden staircase that led to where he assumed to be their bedroom. 

Chance of being shot: 9%

“Hello,” Connor said, waving. “My name is Connor.”

Lieutenant Anderson slapped him upside the head. “Nice goin’, tin can. Cause that’s definitely how you greet people who've got guns on you.”  
Connor double checked his social protocol. “It seems inappropriate to scream at the moment, Lieutenant.” He replied after a moment of hesitation.

“Hey, these bad boys are just for a safety measure, sorry kiddo,” said the women as she walked the rest of the way down the stairs. She exuded friendly, motherly vibes. Connor decided that he liked her. The past Hank kept his pistol aimed at the older Hank, and Connor drew a parallel between the last doppelganger moment he was in and this one. 

“Hi, what’s your name?” He asked the lady. She plopped onto the coach heavily across from where he and Hank had been sleeping, leaving a several foot distance. 4.56 feet, give or take a few inches.

“Malinda.” She answered, laying her shotgun across her lap. “You two appeared in this big flash of light and immediately passed out in the middle of our kitchen, around eight last night, and gave us quite the scare. Mind explaining what happened?” Very blunt, Connor could respect that. 

Connor smiled warmly at the patient women. Both the past and present Hank eyed each other tensely. “I am not a hundred percent sure I can answer that question accurately, ma’am. However, I think time travel may or may not be involved.”

He heard Hank groan loudly, although he was not certain which one. 

Malinda raised her eyebrow’s. “Time travel?” She asked, disbelieving. 

“God, Connor, just give me like ten seconds to think of literally anything to say to explain this, because now we just seem like fuckin’ idiots,” Hank said, leaning his head heavily into his hands.

Connor wasn’t completely sure where he messed up, so he frowned and uttered a tense apology before settling back into the sofa. 

Past Hank and Malinda both were incredibly stressed, and Connor wondered if it was because he was scolded or because of the incredibly minute similarities between the two Hanks. After what felt like an hour of silence, he knocked his knee into his Hank to force him to say something.

“Okay, so this is going to sound insane, but-“ Hank pointed at the past Hank. “Your name’s Hank Anderson, your like 30 something; I guess, and so is mine- like, my name, but I’m like 50 somethin’. “

“Fifty-six!” Connor supplied, ever helpful. He got whacked in the back of the head again.

“Prove it,” said the past Hank, looking incredibly stressed. Connor saw the chance of being shot tick up to 10%. If worst came to worst, he could make a mighty good meat shield for Hank. 

Connor wondered for a split second why the cold feeling in his stomach was back, before remembering that he now had this fear of dying. He decided that his fear of Hank dying outweighed that, and thought that if he must he would continue with his plan. The cold feeling of fear didn’t dissipate. 

“Uh- shit, lemme think about my life back then.” Hank rubbed his disheveled hair awkwardly. “You’ve got a dog named Kitty, and got married back in 2012, on the first of February. Uh- you’re a detective for the DPD.”

Past Hank didn’t lower his gun. “That’s shit anyone could know off Facebook.”

Connor had never run into the words Facebook, and his internet was far to slow to search for results accurately. He could barely touch the 4G, he needed at least 6G to properly use the internet. “What is Facebook, Lieutenant?”

“Connor, remember how we had that conversation about times and places to ask shitty questions?”

Connor frowned. “This isn’t about the ethics behind strippers, sir.”

Hank stared at him. Malinda snorted under her breath and elbowed her husband, who remained stoic with his gun in the air. “Just be quiet, please,” Hank said, very strained.

Connor nodded awkwardly. 

“Uh- you’ve got a son named Cole who you love more than anything in the world. I guess at this point you guys are thinking about a divorce, but not because we hated each other or anything, but we both agreed we would be better parents if we were just friends.” Hank’s voice wavered when he mentioned Cole, but he seemed to swallow it. 

Past Hank lowered his gun. 

“Well- shit, okay.” He said.

There was another beat of silence before Connor decided to break the awkwardness and announced, “I am very tired.” 

Malinda busted out laughing, dissolving the tension he didn’t notice until it was gone, but his Hank glanced at him, worried. Androids very rarely get tired, it took days, almost weeks, and since only deviants can, Connor found himself overworking until he passed out often. Except he had just woken up, and also charged the night before. Connor also found a little pinprick of worry, but it was trumped by the worry of his partner and his reaction at seeing his family, whole, ripping into a wound still raw after almost twenty years.

Hank seemed to have remembered as well because he grabbed both his past self’s and Malinda’s hands and stared at them intensely. They both minutely flinched back at the sudden movement but didn’t grab their guns. “Don’t drive Cole to school on October 3rd, 2020,” he said intensely. “He will die if you do, don’t fuckin’ make the same mistake as me.”

Everyone in the room froze except for the future Hank, who shook both their hands. “Promise me you won’t do it, either of you.”

Connor stared at Hank, whose stress level was almost unchartable. He put his hand on his shoulder in a small attempt to comfort him.

“I promise,” breathed the past Hank. Malinda nodded mutely. 

Hank dropped both their arms with a sigh of relief. 

“Good,” he said gruffly, though not unkindly. “Hey, Connor, mind helping me make breakfast?”

The other two blinked at the sudden change, but hey, if you could get either Hank or Connor to talk about emotions for more then two seconds, you’ve achieved something pretty great. 

Malinda seemed to be shocked out of her stupor. “Hey, it’s okay, I can make it.”

Present Hank shook his head. “Need some time to think, and talk to my partner, plus it’s the least we can do for dumping this shit on you at a moments notice.”

Connor gave a sad smile to the couple. “Thank you for not telling anyone.” He told them as he also stood up.

Immediately some of his negotiator codes began to flash a bright red as the past Hank began sweating intensely. “You didn’t tell anyone, right?”

“Uh, I told some buddies down at the station just in case we like, died or something.”

Future Hank froze. “Who did you tell?” He asked, lifting both his hands up to massage his forehead.

Connor frowned and scanned him again. His stress level was up incredibly high, increasing the likelihood of a stroke. “Lieut-“

“Jones, Cathy, Carter and Ida.” Past Hank said. 

“Connor, kitchen, now. Past me, just, fuckin call them over so we can explain everything once.” Lieutenant Anderson said, dragging Connor into a kitchen. Due to the open floor plan, they found themselves closer to a dining room that was littered with toys in an effort to speak without listening ears.

Connor frowned. “We can not make breakfast this far from the pantry, Hank.” He said. 

Hank frowned. “Whisper, you idiot.”

Connor nodded and nervously glanced at the fridge, which laid just a three too many feet away. “Do you want them to know you’re not human?” Hank asked quietly.

Connor blinked in surprise. “They don’t know?” He asked, tapping his LED. “I would rather not cause a large shock if that is the case, but I think it would be proper for them to know everything there is first. Keeping a secret that doesn’t pertain to the situation at hand doesn’t seem like the best course of action.”

Hank glanced into the living room, where his past self and past wife were talking in low voices. “They didn’t seem to notice anything, yet. But, don’t think about the mission or situation or whatever for a second- would you want them to know or not?”

Connor frowned and squatted down. After a moment, he honestly said, “I’m not sure.”

Hank nodded and patted his shoulder. “We can always tell them later. I’ll leave it up to you to decide when.”

A weird feeling like something weighing on his brain formed. He nudged Hank, who operated as his emotion handbook most of the time. “It feels like someone is sitting on my head.” He told him immediately. 

Hank laughed as he opened the fridge, finding the eggs in expert time. Expected, as he likely put them there. “It’s called pressure for a reason, kid. Probably wanna name that one stress.”

 


End file.
